


Courtship Games

by Lilbluebox



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, flirting in libraries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilbluebox/pseuds/Lilbluebox
Summary: Returning home from battle, Loki seeks out Sigyn.
Relationships: Loki/Sigyn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Courtship Games

Loki arrives in Asgard behind his brother, a dark stain lurking in the wake of the battered but victorious Warriors Three, Sif’s chin tilted upward in proud strength for her deeds in battle. His brother, golden warrior that he is, leads the way, fist raised above his head and a bloodthirsty grin split across his face as the cheers begin. 

Suppressing a sigh, Loki casts several spells in quick succession, and leaves under the cover of invisibility as his illusion remains with the group. How telling, that none notice. Nor will they. He keeps a distracted eye on the illusion as he makes his way to his rooms at a far quicker pace than Thor’s victory lap allows for. 

Protective spells greet him, woven from his own seidr to guard his rooms from all who might intrude. Loki slips inside, breathing in the familiar, comforting scents of paper and ink, the caress of seidr, the lingering traces of waterlily and the sharper scents of herbs. Familiar.  _ Home.  _

And yet, though signs of her lay everywhere, there is no Sigyn. Disappointed, though not surprised, Loki closes the doors and casts off the invisibility as he might a cloak. Carefully, methodically, he strips and grimaces as leather gives way to reveal purple bruises along his hip and side. Perhaps Sigyn’s absence is for the best, he decides as he sinks into a bath and begins to clean off the inevitable grime of battle. Midway through he pauses to redirect his illusion, then dismiss it once it’s out of sight of the others, then continues to scrub until he is blessedly clean. 

He lounges in the cooling water for longer than he ought, then rises, dresses, and leaves the sanctuary of his quarters. Avoiding the habitual swirl of activity within the palace is easy enough, a skill long learned and augmented by the knowledge of the secret passages riddled throughout the building and the schedules of servants, ambassadors, and advisors within. He has no desire to recount a tale that will be celebrated tonight and swollen out of all proportion. 

Briefly, he considers stopping one of the servants to ask where Sigyn might be, but discards the notion almost immediately. That particular trick works once every second handful of times, and there’s no need to make it obvious why he’s abandoned the joys of playing second fiddle to Thor once again. Instead, Loki considers her favored haunts, her usual schedule, and finds himself with a number of places she might reasonably be.

For the entertainment of it, he decides to search in reverse order, from least to most likely. She is not with the healers, though Eir smiles knowingly at him when he pokes his nose in to check and suggests he try the gardens; she is not in the gardens nor anywhere near the golden apple orchard, with its protective dragons curled around the tree trunks. 

It’s within the great library that he finds her, neither in the most nor least likely place she could be. Her back is turned as she peruses the books, fingers skimming the spines. The smile he finds himself wearing only warms when he sees that she’s woven a green ribbon into her moon-pale braid, and he ghosts up behind her, deliberately silent, and runs his fingers down her arm. 

Sigyn startles, then relaxes. A whisper-soft smile touches her lips as she angles herself towards him, stepping back into his willing arms as she slides her fingers up to join with his. “Welcome back.”

Loki rests his cheek against her hair. “And what a welcome it is,” he says, tracing a mindless pattern on her sleeve with his thumb. “What brings you to the library?”

“Books,” is Sigyn’s bland reply, and tilts her head back to look at him, humor sparkling in her eyes. He snorts. “What brings you?”

“I wonder,” Loki hums, and tweaks her nose impishly. “It couldn’t possibly be the company, not when I’ve left such dear friends behind to report to the Allfather without me.”

“Of course not,” she agrees dryly, tone belied by the warmth of her expression. “It went that well then?”

“Undoubtedly you’ll hear all about it at tonight’s feast.”

“Sounds riveting. Unfortunately, I’ve very important things to do that involve not being there.” Again, her whisper-smile flits across her lips when Loki chokes on a laugh. “Besides, I’d hate to rob you of the opportunity to spin silver.”

Rather than reply, Loki stretches out a hand to pluck a book from the shelves, the leather bound cover old and worn. “Why disappoint you with silver when gold awaits?” And indeed, golden script, faded, but still there, spells out the title in an elegant hand. Histories of Alfheim, archaic and dull as dust. “Though not this. There are far better uses of your time than this drivel.”

“I prefer silver,” Sigyn murmurs. With a gentle squeeze of his fingers, she steps out of his arms and reaches for the book, but Loki twists to the side, holding it just out of her reach. Again, that flickering smile he so loves catches on her face. The amused exasperation hidden in the curve only adds to the effect. “Really, Loki?”

“Drivel, Sigyn,” he chides her, spinning gracefully out of her second attempt to snatch the tome, reveling in how her smile grows, his own overflowing with fond mischief. It’s an old game, one born from a careless whimsy decades ago, one he’d expected her to be annoyed with. And yet, her eyes had lit in delight as he teased and danced about the room, keeping her pin  _ just  _ out of reach with every quip traded, until footsteps had startled her into silence and he’d returned the pin to its rightful place. “Really, your poor eyes deserve far better than this nonsense.”

“Do they?” Her fingers graze the hem of his sleeve as he ducks behind the shelving, placing rows of books between them. Sigyn allows him one, two steps before she follows, hair tumbling about her shoulders. “I think you should prove it.”

“And so the healer challenges the trickster.”

“Well, since you won’t give it to me -” Sigyn laughs as her fresh attempt leads to the brush of her fingers against his turned shoulder before he darts down a second aisle. A pause, then loose books shift and he grins to see her peering at him through the cracks between them. She removes several more books and ducks out of sight, presumably placing them by her feet before her head pops back into view, eyes dancing. “Convince me it’s nonsense,” she invites.

“Are you sure?” Loki leans back against the opposing shelf, waving the book lazily in front of himself. “Your ears may never recover.”

Something very soft and not a little mischievous tucked itself into the corners of her eyes. “I suppose we’ll see whether silver wins out over gold,” Sigyn replies softly.

Curse his pale complexion! Loki lifts the book hastily to hide his warming cheeks and flips it open. Sigyn’s soft laugh, the mark of a point scored, hardly helps. “If that is what you desire, my lady…” he trails off deliberately, and smirks at her over the cover. “Be careful what you wish for.”

With that, he begins to read. The page he’d landed on begins in the middle of a sentence; he starts there, picking up the facts and names with all the liveliness of an ancient tutor, intentionally pitching his voice to the driest of the dry. Cloth rustles, footsteps sound, and Loki ignores them both as his lady moves to take advantage of his supposed distraction. 

Should he make a move himself, he wonders? Vanish himself from this aisle before she makes it? Her footsteps are slow enough that he could; evidently, Sigyn has decided to slow the chase.

She halts, her footsteps going silent, and Loki slants his eyes towards her without once pausing in his recitation. Sigyn’s fingers rest on book spines as she stands there, taking in his still damp hair, his casual tunic, the splay of his fingers on the cover of the book he reads from. Her regard doesn’t quite manage to trip up his reading, but he finds it a close call, and pulls his eyes back to the words before it does. 

It would be prudent to leave now, or perhaps pull away when Sigyn draws close, but her footsteps once again hesitate, and Loki turns the page rather than move his feet. 

When she moves again, it’s not to continue their game. Instead, Sigyn leans against him, resting her head against his shoulder, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “See?” he says when he at last finishes reciting the entire genealogy of Alfheim nobility, dating back since before Asgard’s creation. “Drivel. It’s a wonder your ears don’t bleed.”

Sigyn laughs. “Loki, I would gladly listen to you recite laundry lists if you were so inclined.”

“Flatterer. They’ll be calling you Silvertongue next.”

“That would require talking to people.” Sigyn grimaces. “No, thank you.”

“Ah, so I don’t qualify as people,” Loki teases. “I see how it is. How cruel the Lady Sigyn can be when she wishes.”

“Careful. I know your weaknesses.” Sigyn’s eyes gleam as she raises her hand and wriggles her fingers at him. 

“Such cheek.” He catches her fingers with his free hand and raises it to his lips to press a soft kiss to her knuckles. Healing herbs still linger on her skin, and beneath it, the perfume of flowers from his mother’s chambers. If he lingers, his nose brushing against her hand, Sigyn says nothing about it save for the pink rising in her cheeks. “Such a shame none recognize it for the treasure it is.”

The rosy dusting deepens in hue, painting scarlet down her neck. Rather than respond, Sigyn draws a breath and hides her face by pressing her forehead to his shoulder. “Ridiculous,” he hears her mumble. Chuckling, Loki drops a second kiss to the crown of her head. 

While Sigyn collects herself - though given how she relaxes against him, Loki suspects she’s more getting comfortable than anything else - he closes the book and sets it aside, releasing her hand so she might do with it what she will. To his pleasure, her will is to set it against his chest, fingers curling minutely into the fabric of his tunic. 

“So,” he murmurs after a moment, “what shall I do with this?”

“With -” Sigyn raises her head to see him playing with her ribbon, the green twisted between his fingers. She huffs out a laugh, and drops her face to his shoulder once more, smiling. “Should I bother asking when?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course not,” Loki replies airily. “Well? Your judgement, my lady?”

“My judgement,” she echoes thoughtfully, and pulls back just enough to consider him. “Since you’ve ruined my braid, I think it’s only fair you fix it.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Sigyn brushes her fingertips against his loose hair and traces the side of his face with a touch so slight and gentle it has no business being so electrifying. “I leave the fate of the ribbon to you.”

“So you concede?” Loki raises his brows even as he dips his face towards her, following her touch as she draws away. Obediently, she changes tactics, slipping her hand across his skin to cradle his cheek in her palm. “Unwise, to set such precedents.”

“Perhaps.” Sigyn grins, and his heart soars. “Perhaps not. Claim your prize, Loki Odinsson.”

Permission given, Loki does just that. A kiss marks the end of their game before he gathers her hair in his hands, weaving the ribbon back into her loosened braid. “It is so _very_ satisfying to win,” he murmurs, and has to laugh at her reply: 

“That’s funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”


End file.
